


The Razors and the Dying Rose

by monimala



Series: The Slippery Slope [1]
Category: General Hospital
Genre: Gap Filler, Multi, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 10:48:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10875201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monimala/pseuds/monimala
Summary: Spinning off from the Johnny/Kristina scenes on 6/17/11, this is the beginning of a loosely linked J/K/E ménage series.Kristina knows exactly who Johnny and Ethan are and exactly what she's getting into.





	The Razors and the Dying Rose

The weight of Johnny's arm across her chest, protective and possessive, is what kept her standing straight and talking back to her dad. And it's all that stands between her and oblivion. She doesn't even realize that until later, when she's practically bouncing over the threshold of his apartment, sweeping up a glass of half-finished wine and flopping onto his couch with an exuberance that she hasn't felt in…well, ever. It's weird, because she suddenly feels every bit of her seventeen years for the first time in months. Like being with Kiefer, turning into pulp under his fists, made her old before her time. 

Johnny stares down at her, exasperated, but there's no darkness in his eyes. None of that anger that used to flash in Kiefer's eyes before he drew back his hand. "Kristina," he chides her, a wry chuckle in his voice as he reaches to take the wine back.

Their fingers brush against the glass and she shivers. Safe. Johnny is safe. Then why does a dangerous thrill shoot through her? She doesn't really know what to do with that question, with the feeling that accompanies it, pooling low in her belly. Molly would probably cue up some kind of lecture about pangs of love or the beauty of arousal, citing at least three classic novels and pulling out a page of footnotes. But unlike her sister, Kristina has no big attachment to hearts and flowers. She slept with Kiefer because he expected her to, not because she wanted to. Sex was uncomfortable, painful, and she remembers lying awake at night, trying to touch herself and hating the feel of even her own fingers.

Johnny's hands are different. She wants to lean into them, to let them catch her as she teeters on the edge. But then the door is thrown open, and Olivia is standing there, staring at them, with accusation in her eyes. Johnny pulls away…and Kristina is eighty again, withered and empty and alone.

**

Ethan grasps her wrist, gently pulling it across the poker table. He slides the ace out from beneath her sleeve, laughing the whole time. The sound echoes across the empty casino, and the card flutters to the smooth, red felt. "Long sleeves in the middle of summer…dead giveaway, sweetheart," he drawls.

"There are other reasons somebody would wear long sleeves," she points out, before she can stop herself. They both flinch as Ethan's laugh gets stuck in his throat and he stares at her with wounded, dark eyes.

The marks on her arm from where he'd grabbed her…they faded long before the evidence of Kiefer's brutality. She'd actually cried when she couldn't trace those finger-shaped bruises anymore, because she'd known Ethan hadn't meant to hurt her…and seeing the bruises reminded her how awful she was for lying about him.

"Johnny's gonna hurt you, too, you know," Ethan warns. His voice is like gravel, hard, each consonant shoving each vowel like a car rolling up a driveway. "This game you two are playing is bloody idiotic." 

It is. She knows that. Every time she sees her dad, he's more irate. Like he can't even look at her without seeing Johnny and her in bed. It's funny, all those times he was so busy *not* looking at her were the times when Kiefer hurt her the most. And now…*now* the great Sonny Corinthos thinks she's being used, being taken advantage of. "He might kill Johnny soon," she murmurs, again without thinking. 

Ethan swears, knocking poker chips off the table in one sweeping motion. Now it's her turn to reach for his wrist. Her fingers barely span it. His skin is softer than his voice. She brushes her thumb across his pulse and he shudders, head tipping forward so his long hair covers his face. "You know how to play games, Ethan. Teach me this one, too."

**

It takes months for her to heal. To really heal. Even after her father goes too far, and she and Johnny stop their dangerous tango, and Ethan keeps worrying from the sidelines. She goes two weeks without wincing at someone towering over her…then four weeks without jerking away when Dante squeezes her shoulder or Michael greets her with a hug…and then two months pass and she's falling asleep on Ethan's shoulder while they watch a movie at Johnny's. The couch is soft, her soda glass empty and Ethan's second beer at its dregs. Johnny is across from them, in a chair, a glass of wine hanging loosely in his grip.

She feels Ethan's hand in her hair, teasing it out of the ponytail and stroking through it. There is a soft pressure against the top of her head, and she realizes he's kissed her there. Gentle and unassuming. Two things she never would've thought him of being, back when she thought *he* was the bad boy and Kiefer the good one. And now he's her best friend.

"That's a slippery slope," Johnny observes, and she lifts her head off Ethan's shoulder so she can look at him…watch how his half-lidded eyes study them both before he takes a slow gulp of wine. A drop of it clings to his lower lip, like it's blood and he's a vampire, and she's surprised by how she suddenly wants to go to him…to lick the corner of his mouth and taste if it's Shiraz or Merlot. "This whole thing's been a slippery slope, hasn't it? All along. Because of you, little girl."

"I'm not a little girl," she says, automatically, shrugging out from under Ethan's arm, scooting towards the end of the sofa. And it's not a slippery slope, she wants to say. It's not a slippery slope, because holding on to Johnny and Ethan has kept her grounded. "I haven't been a little girl in a very long time."

"Really?" Johnny sets his wine down on the coffee table. "So you really thought about all those things we told Sonny we did together? Beyond just the words? Because he sure did, Kristina. He did, and it nearly got us both killed. So, it wasn't just a fun little game, a fairy tale…it was all about how I *fucked* you. And now you're here, with us, and I haven't the faintest clue what you want. What you expect. Except maybe more of the same." 

"Johnny, wait—" 

Ethan interrupts, but Johnny cuts him off with a slash of his palm. "Don't 'Johnny' me, man. And don't tell me you haven't thought about it. That you weren't thinking it a minute ago when you were sniffing her hair like some lovesick puppy." 

For the first time in months, Kristina wants to cower, but she doesn't. She meets Johnny's accusatory gaze steadily, her jaw clenched tight. "Stop it," she says. "Stop being mean, Johnny, because I know that's not you."

"Do you?" He laughs, and it's harsh and tired and so familiar. It tells her that he's not mad; he just doesn't know what to do with her. "Do you really know what I am, Kristina? What Ethan is?"

The answer is easy. She glances over her shoulder at Ethan, skinny and scruffy, slouching low against the cushions and glowering, and then she looks back at Johnny, who is big and dark, like a thundercloud with bits of sunshine trying to break through. "Yeah," she shrugs. "You're men I trust."

Johnny makes a strangled sound. Then he's leaning forward, and it's *his* mouth softly caressing her hair, chastely brushing her forehead. He cradles her face between his palms and gasps, "You shouldn't. Baby, you really shouldn't."

But she does. She can't change that. She doesn't want to. "I trust you," she repeats. "I trust you both. Maybe I love you both, too."

She tilts her chin up, awkwardly catches his lower lip in her first freely given kiss. And the weight of Johnny's arms…the comfort of Ethan, who slides down to bracket her between his legs, and bends to kiss her throat… this is all that stand between her and oblivion. 

 

\--end--

June 18, 2010


End file.
